Banker's Draft

by Clive Mullis

  *

  Cornwallis walked up to the underground entrance in Beltide Park and descended the few steps cut into the pavement behind the park railings, where a protective barrier around the entrance stopped anyone falling down. Large iron gates blocked the way a few steps down and Cornwallis stood and rang a bell which indicated that he might quite like to come in. He stood there for a good few minutes tapping his feet and checking his watch, it was getting to the point where he felt he might have to go down to the warehouse entrance when he heard the slow steady pace of footsteps coming towards him.

  ‘What you want?’ asked a deep gruff voice from the black depths behind the gate.

  Cornwallis looked through the gate and tried, and failed, to see the dwarf. ‘To see your King,’ he replied with confidence.

  ‘Do you now. Well, what if I said that the King don’t want to see you.’

  ‘I would say that perhaps you’d better ask him first.’

  The dwarf sniffed contemptuously. ‘If the King wanted to see you then he would have told me he wanted to see you.’

  ‘You don’t even know who I am, so how would you know?’ reasoned Cornwallis.

  ‘Don’t need to know who you are, you got a word?’

  ‘A word? What do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly. If you ain’t got a word then the King don’t want to see you, so sod off long-legs.’

  Cornwallis heard footsteps now going away from the entrance back into the deep tunnels beyond. ‘Go and ask him, my name’s Cornwallis,’ he shouted into the blackness.

  He just heard silence as a reply and Cornwallis sighed; he would just have to go to the warehouse on the wharf instead, which would eat up another chunk of his day. He hadn’t thought that getting in would be such a problem. He checked his watch again and calculated the time it would take, as he had to meet up with Frankie and Rose later.

  ‘You said you didn’t have the word.’

  Cornwallis had just taken the first step back up when the voice seemed to explode into his ears. He spun quickly back around and saw the dwarf unlocking the gate. How he had appeared there so quickly and quietly Cornwallis would never know.

  ‘Uh? Er, thanks, I mean. Out of curiosity, the word is Cornwallis?’

  The dwarf nodded and swung the gate wide open to let him in. ‘You’re to follow me.’

  Cornwallis stepped in and the gate clanged shut behind him. It felt a bit like a prison cell for a moment or two, but then the dwarf hurried away. Cornwallis hesitated and then rushed after, he had no desire to get lost anywhere in these tunnels; it would take forever to find his way out again.

  His guide carried an axe looped in his belt as well as a hammer, and looked as if he knew how to use both in more ways than one. He held a small lantern in his hand, presumably for Cornwallis’ benefit only. Unlike most of the dwarfs he had met, this one appeared gruff and uncommunicative and Cornwallis quickly gave up trying to engage him in conversation; he just followed meekly, down tunnel after tunnel, always sloping down, and obviously going far underground. In many areas, he had to keep his head bent down to avoid smacking his skull on the roof, but generally, he found that he had far and away enough head room to walk upright. This surprised him, as he had supposed that he would be spending a lot of the time bent double. There were a few flights of hand-hewn steps when descending to an obviously new level, and then the trip through the tunnels continued.

  Time in the dark seemed not to exist, and he quickly lost track of it. The only noises were the whistles and grunts from his companion as he indicated their presence to a guard. Eventually they came to a busier section and he could see dwarfs moving around and could hear the low buzz of them talking, and in the distance, the obvious clacks and smacks of picks at work. A few dwarfs eyed him warily, but most seemed to take no notice as he dutifully followed his guide.

  They entered an enormous cavern, cathedral like in its sheer splendour with the walls shining with precious stones. Here, a great gathering of dwarfs sat on rough stone benches facing one way towards a raised area hacked into the wall. Cornwallis thought it looked a formal occasion and did wonder whether he’d been taken to a court of some description. On the raised section there were a few dwarfs sitting at tables, one of them writing furiously as another spoke in a deep guttural language.

  Cornwallis looked around, trying to make sense of it all, when his guide grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him from the cavern, taking him down a small brightly lit passage to a small neatly laid out room. The guide indicated a chair, and Cornwallis obliged him by sitting down. With a grunt of approval the guide left, he slammed the door and then the unmistakable sound of a key turning in its lock. Cornwallis had reached his destination.

  He regarded the bare bones of the room for only a few minutes before the key clicked in the lock again and the door swung open. A dwarf stood there wearing a dull green cloak and polished leather trousers, a tan coloured shirt, with a medallion hanging from his neck. His beard was plaited and hung down to below his waist, as did his long grey hair.

  ‘Hmmm.’ The dwarf scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘So you’re Cornwallis then?’

  Cornwallis stood up and took a pace forward and held out his hand to shake. ‘I am, and are you the King of the Dwarfs?’

  ‘King? Me?’ he chuckled, accepting the proffered hand. ‘I’m more of what you might call the welcoming committee. Can’t have anyone coming down here wanting to speak to the King, the place would be overrun with the likes of you lot. I’m Goodhalgan.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose so,’ conceded Cornwallis. ‘So, when do I see the King, er, Goodhalgan?’

  Goodhalgan smiled. ‘Soon, Mr Cornwallis, very soon.’

  ‘So I have to pass something then? Satisfy you that I’m not a danger to his health or whatever?’

  ‘No. You’re never going to be a danger to a dwarf, Mr Cornwallis,’ and he chuckled again. ‘Dear me, no, the very thought of it.’

  ‘Then what?’ asked Cornwallis, getting a little exasperated now.

  ‘You haven’t got a toothbrush on you by any chance, have you?’ the dwarf asked, somewhat hesitantly.

  There was a moment’s pause. ‘A toothbrush?’ responded Cornwallis, confused at the question. ‘Why do you want…? Ah!’ Cornwallis suddenly remembered, Bough had told him about Psycho Pete. He grinned and shook his head. ‘I’m not going to start polishing the quartz, if that’s what you mean.’

  Goodhalgan looked a little embarrassed. ‘Oh, so you heard then.’

  ‘I did, but I don’t think it made the front page of the papers. Your reputation should be safe.’

  ‘The papers?’ Goodhalgan’s face crumpled. ‘You don’t think it will be in the papers do you?’

  Cornwallis shook his head. ‘Someone with an addled mind being thrown out the mines? I don’t think that will sell papers. However, how many dwarfs were hurt?’

  ‘Three,’ conceded Goodhalgan. ‘But only slightly, we’re still trying to figure out how he got in.’

  Cornwallis debated whether to prolong the agony for the dwarf, but then decided it might not be to his best advantage, considering he still had to see the King. ‘I haven’t heard anything, or read anything in the papers. Captain Bough is as discreet as they come, and I only know about it because I happened to be there when they released his cell-mate.

  Goodhalgan seemed to relax a little; he nodded and then smiled again and indicated the chair. Cornwallis sat back down and waited for the dwarf to continue.

  ‘I’d better backtrack a bit in that case, Mr Cornwallis,’ said Goodhalgan, apologetically. ‘I am indeed the current King of the Dwarfs, and I bid you welcome to Under Gornstock.’

  Cornwallis inclined his head and grinned, ‘I thought so; Goodhalgan, please tell me, what’s happening in the cavern down there?’ and he pointed to the way he came in.

  ‘You guessed I am the king? I thought I did rather well. Oh well, never mind. The cavern? Hmmm, that’s school for the under forties, dwarf lore and all that; got
to keep the youngsters interested in their history, don’t you know. Dwarfs are proud of their heritage, Mr Cornwallis, miss one generation and it’s all gone, never to be got back.’

  ‘Under forties?’ gasped Cornwallis. ‘You do mean under forty years old?’

  ‘Of course, forty is very young but we believe in getting at them early. Now what can I do for you? Trugral told me you wanted to see me.’

  Cornwallis’ mind performed somersaults in trying to get around the idea that forty year old dwarfs were learning at school, and for a brief few moments, he struggled to get his mind back to where it should be. ‘Er, yes, well. I mean… forty?’

  Goodhalgan sat down and looked at Cornwallis sympathetically. ‘Yes. Dwarfs live to a very old age in comparison to humans, Mr Cornwallis, unless of course they meet with an unexpected incident; like a war or a skirmish or a tunnel collapsing, which would really be their own fault as they should have built it properly to start with, or something like that. I am only a hundred and thirty two, in the prime of life, hale and hearty and ready for a good few years yet. Now, let’s get to the purpose of your visit, shall we?’

  Cornwallis sat still for another few moments as his face did contortions whilst his mind digested the information. ‘Er, right then. Why did I want to see you? Oh yes, I definitely wanted to see you.’

  Goodhalgan waited patiently.

  ‘Yes, all right then.’ Cornwallis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned back to Goodhalgan and smiled. His mind sort of stopped bouncing and got onto a level field again and he felt now a little more in control. ‘I’m here because you allowed a man to be kept in your old guardroom, can you remember?’

  Goodhalgan returned the smile. ‘I do, Mr Cornwallis. A bit of a mistake that, but we live and learn. What exactly is your interest in him?’

  ‘I’m investigating the murder of the gentleman’s cleaner. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to interview him, owing to the fact that you allowed a couple of men to incarcerate him in your guardroom,’ responded Cornwallis. ‘What I need from you is, well, really anything you can tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know if I should really, confidentiality and all that,’ answered Goodhalgan. ‘Trugral told you they weren’t nice people, I believe, but we can’t go around gossiping to anybody who asks, now can we?’

  Cornwallis nodded solemnly. ‘Normally I would agree with you, but in this case the men concerned are, I believe, involved in murder and other crimes. One of them has just recently ended his days by having his head ripped off by a polar bear. So you see it would benefit the city if you would stretch the point a little.’

  ‘Polar bear, eh? Ooh, nasty.’

  ‘You should have been there,’ replied Cornwallis with a shudder, the memory still fresh in his mind.

  ‘In that case I suppose it would be all right, which one died?’

  ‘Maxwell, the thug. The other one is still on the loose.’

  ‘Kintersbury you mean?’

  Cornwallis nodded.

  ‘Yes, we did notice his presence, but Mr Maxwell arranged everything with me a few days ago,’ answered Goodhalgan. ‘He came down and said that he had to hide a man for his own protection and did I know anywhere suitable. He paid well, so I didn’t argue. The man they put in there seemed a sad type, we felt sorry for him, but he wouldn’t leave on his own; though we did leave the door open.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything to anyone?’

  Goodhalgan shook his head. ‘No, just walked about the guardroom, didn’t even try the door. You humans can be so strange.’

  ‘I would agree with you there,’ said Cornwallis, having had a lot of experience with strange people. ‘What about those drugs in your tunnel?’ he then asked, changing the subject.

  Goodhalgan rocked his head as if weighing up his answer. ‘The truth of the matter is that I don’t know. We hardly used that tunnel and we only noticed them when they hid this man in our guardroom. Couldn’t tell you how long they’ve been there,’ he added a little embarrassedly. ‘I take it you are going to remove the drugs from our tunnels? We don’t want a reputation for dealing in your little habits, you know.’

  ‘In due course, Goodhalgan. I would rather like to leave it all there for a while, you know, just to keep an eye on who comes and goes. Would it be possible for one of you to, er, take notice, should anyone take an interest?’

  ‘As long as it’s agreed that it won’t be for long.’

  ‘Good, I think we have an agreement then. You know Gerald from the Brews?’

  Goodhalgan nodded.

  ‘I’m going to ask him to help too, if you do below the ground, he’ll do above.’

  They heard a cheer coming from the cavern next door and then the sound of a tidal wave rushing through the tunnels. Cornwallis looked startled while Goodhalgan just sat there and grinned.

  ‘Dinner time,’ explained the King. ‘Our youngsters do get a little exuberant when it’s time for their lunch.’

  *

  They’d found Algernon up near the Assembly, still keeping an eye on Kintersbury. Nothing had happened last night after he got in place, and so far, nothing had happened today. Frankie made the decision to leave him to it and hope that at least something would happen soon. Algernon had told him that Dumchuck had stuck to his house last night, while his wife only went out to do the soup run, and today he’d only ventured as far as the bank. Kintersbury had been up to much the same, with the only movement last night coming from his servant, who popped out for a short time to deliver a letter. Today he just went to the House of Assembly, presumably to do whatever a Chief Secretary to the Treasury did; which, in Frankie’s opinion, was not a lot.

  Rose fell into step with Frankie as they made their way down the road towards Sal’s to grab some lunch. She gave them a big welcome, and an even bigger lunch: for him, a special, and for her, a smaller version. They would try to cadge a lift to the Brews to see Gerald after they’d eaten, as they would probably be too full to move.

  ‘Still feel a bit guilty about forcing a full special on yer the other day, my girl,’ said Sal, as she made them comfortable. ‘But sometimes you can’t resists the temptation. I was impressed though, you managed to eat it all.’

  ‘And very nice it was too, Sal, but I don’t think I’ll try another just yet.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t keep that figure fer long if you did.’

  Already the crowd around Sal’s Sizzler began to increase with the presence of Rose sitting behind the counter. Rose hadn’t noticed, but Sal had; and she grinned in gratitude for the extra custom, now prepared after the chaos she caused the other day.

  ‘You come here as much as you like my girl,’ she said, counting the money, ‘even if Frankie ain’t with you.’

  ‘Thanks, Sal,’ replied Rose between mouthfuls.

  ‘Yeah, you and I can have a good old chinwag at some time. I reckon that once we start we won’t be able to stop. Take your employer, I can tell you a good few things about him, I can tell you. When I used to work with his—’

  ‘Mum,’ interrupted Frankie. ‘We ain’t got time for all that. We’re working.’

  ‘Oh well, you go and spoil a couple of girls’ fun, why don’t you my lad. Us girls always have time for a chat, ain’t that right Rose?’

  ‘It is, Sal, but I’m afraid Frankie’s right, we have work to do. If we got started where would we end?’

  ‘Probably at the point where I tell you about when I smacked your Jack’s backside for being a naughty boy.’

  ‘My Jack?’ Rose stopped chewing and looked up in surprise.

  Sal hesitated for a second as Rose’s question fed into her brain. God’s, you wait ‘til I gets holds o’him, she said to herself. ‘I just mean yer boss,’ she answered in the end. ‘Just my way of talking.’ She cast her eyes to the far end of the stall. ‘Oi, Manuel. Get yer finger out o’that pie.’

  Rose pondered a thought as they bounced along the road. They were sitting in the back of a draper’s cart that hea
ded across the river, the jolts being thankfully absorbed, as the wheels hit the potholes, by the cloth bundles on which they were presently reposed. Frankie had forced the lift, and was once again thankful that the folk in the city were largely an obliging lot.

  ‘Frankie?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘How discreet can you be?’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘I mean, if I told you something, would you be able to keep it to yourself and not blab it around?’

  ‘Discretion is my middle name, my darling,’ he replied, his interest now piqued.

  ‘Hmmm.’ She pondered the thought again, and looked at him as she chewed her lip.

  He raised his eyebrows in question, and then made an encouraging hand gesture.

  ‘I’m not really sure I should say anything really, it’s a bit personal,’ she added in the end.

  ‘Rose, how long have we known each other?’

  ‘Barely a week.’

  ‘Ah, but a week for us is like a decade for someone else. Look what we’ve been through?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, but I warn you, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will cut your knadgers off and feed them to the fish.’

  Frankie automatically dropped a hand down to his lap for protection. ‘Ooo, that’s mean. Sadie wouldn’t like that.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t like doing it, but you know I would.’

  Frankie held up his hands. ‘Okay, you’ve convinced me. I don’t want to know.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No. You’re being serious, and I like my knadgers where they are, thank you very much. If you want to unload, then unload onto Jack. He likes that sort of thing, and the nobs have a code of silence when they want to use it. Tell him and I promise you he won’t say a word.’

  ‘I can’t, because it’s about him.’

  ‘Rose. That’s not fair. I like my knadgers, Sadie likes my knadgers, especially when they—’

  ‘Frankie. Stop. Too much information, thank you.’ She clapped her hands over her ears and pleaded with him to shut up.